Open Stakes
by Sister Coyote
Summary: To be a pirate, you have to have an awful lot of pride. Final Fantasy XII/Kingdom Hearts/Digital Devil Saga crossover.
1. Open Stakes

It was all going fine up until the blond man with the beard won the last of Cielo's money.

Cielo was pretty blase about it, even though he usually was good at cards—partly because he was better with people than most of the rest of the crew, but mostly just because he was absurdly lucky. "I'm out," he said, cheerfully.

"Sure about that?" the man said, his voice smooth and his fingers ruffling the cards. Argilla felt the little second-sense tingle, the there-could-be-a-fight-here feeling that everyone developed if they were going to survive long in pirate bars.

"Ja. Dis game got me for all I'm worth," Cielo said, and Argilla sighed and dropped her forehead into her hands, because that made Heat roll to his feet.

"You expect me to believe," he said, "that you won all those games fairly?"

"Heat—" Cielo said.

"If you're accusing me of something, sir," the man said, "perhaps you'd best make your accusation." He talked like an Archadian nobleman, which was almost certainly part of what was getting Heat riled.

"Fine," he said. "You cheat."

Another man rose quietly to his feet, and Argilla sized him up, fast: not especially tall, but of a muscular build, with long black braids and a tense expression. Beside him, a slim man with an eyepatch faded out of obscurity in the shadows. For her own part, Argilla reached back under her cloak, to the gun she kept strapped to her back, even in the port. _Especially_ in the port.

The blond man rose to his feet, earrings glittering. "I daresay I do not," he said, and his expression remained placid even when Heat lunged forward and clenched his hands in the front of his black shirt, lifting him almost off his feet.

Everybody in the bar backed up as the man with the black braids quietly pulled a spear out from under the table, and the man with the eyepatch drew a gun. Argilla closed her hand around her gun, and glanced at Serph, who was watching Heat with an expression of icy intensity. Beside her, she heard Gale sigh, very quietly, and slide his long knife out of its sheath.

"You want to put him down real slow, like," said the man with the eyepatch, his gun trained on Heat's back. "Or you'll regret it. 'Least I'll regret it. I hate gettin' kicked out of bars."

The look of smoldering disdain Heat shot toward him wasn't unusual. The way the man acted entirely unaffected by it, however, was. If Cielo was their good-luck charm, Heat was their intimidator, and he could usually manage that just fine. Argilla wondered why Serph hadn't moved; no surprise he hadn't said anything, he spoke rarely enough even on board the _Embryon_ and almost never when off it, but she was surprised he hadn't made any movements . . . .

A slim blonde woman—all in black, like the other three—dropped out of the shadows, and there was Argilla's answer because Serph grabbed her like he knew she was going to do it. They scuffled a moment and then he had her arm up behind her back and she was spitting curses quite in contrast to Serph's silence. That gave Argilla time to get a bead on the man with the eyepatch, who didn't miss it. The look he gave her wasn't a glare, it was a smirk, slim-yellow and glowing, fixed right on her. "What we have here," he said, "is a good old-fashioned stand-off, my tattooed friends. Now I think—"

"—I think you should shut up," rumbled an all-too-familiar voice, and Argilla thought, _Damn_. "All of you." It was one of Reddas' favorite tricks, going quiet-like to a bar and keeping an eye on things; now he pushed back the hood of his cloak and stood up. "You know I'll not tolerate this in the port. If you must have it out, do it elsewhere. If you can't both be here without a fight, then one of you can leave. The Seventh Heaven's right down the street—"

Serph made a little motion with his head. Heat looked like he'd like to argue, but he settled for snapping, "We were just leaving anyway," and shoving the gambler back into his seat.

As they skulked out, Argilla glanced back to see the man with the eyepatch grin, wink, and salute her with his gun.


	2. Plan Well Done

Most citified viera dyed their hair in colors similar to those of humes—as though that would make them blend in somehow, two-foot rabbit ears notwithstanding. Jinana hadn't even tried. True, she'd dyed her hair, but she'd used something picked up from a local weaver that turned it vivid green.

"Rumor has it there's a big take to be had in Archades right now, for those brave enough to go after it," Luxord said, cutting and folding the cards. Jinana sipped some kind of liquor that glittered like rubies in her glass and gave him an unreadable look.

"Fool enough to go after it, more like," she said, her voice lilting on an accent that said she'd been born in the Woods, wherever she was now.

"So you have heard of it?"

She smiled. "You know better."

He tossed a sack of gil on the table, which she retrieved with the tips of her claws and weighted in the palm of her hand. "You know of the Royal Archadian opera house."

"Do _I_ know of the opera house? Surely you jest."

Jinana pressed her lips together as though she were either disapproving or trying not to smile. "The satrap of Cerobi and his wife will be attending the premiere of _The Mask of Mirazen_."

"Of course," Luxord said, "everyone makes a fuss about Nedofan's operas, though to my mind they're maudlin at their best, and more often downright treacly; I much prefer the works of—"

"Enough," Jinana said. "The satrap will be carrying a walking stick—a rod of braidwood, decorated with gold and emerald and topped with an unflawed sapphire as large as a man's fist."

"Gaudy."

"You are one to talk."

"But my dear—I am a pirate, not a governor. I am permitted—nay, encouraged!—to gaudiness. Governors are expected to show more, shall we say, restraint."

"I take it you intend to assist him with his restraint?" Jinana looked amused, viera-style.

"Ah, my heart," Luxord said, touching a finger to her lips, "that would be telling."

* * *

"I've a job for us," Luxord said as soon as he was within the warehouse loft they used as a landbound base of operations. (The _Heartless_ could comfortably house himself, Xaldin, Xigbar, and Larxene, which was usually the only group who actually went _out_ on jobs, but it was too small for all of the team.)

"Rapture," Zexion said without looking up from his book.

"You've nothing to be concerned about." Luxord turned a chair around backwards and settled in it, pulling Lexaeus' paper down a notch to get his attention. "Neither of you will be coming on the job. You're to do your usual task: information only."

Zexion arched an eyebrow. "Have you sold the boss on this one yet?"

"Not yet." Luxord leaned back, rubbing an earring between his fingertips. "I like to get all my cards in place before I show my hand."

"What information?" Lexaeus rumbled.

"You, I need to get a complete set of blueprints for the Royal Archadian—and I mean _complete_, servant accesses and hidden stairways and all. Zexion, be a love and dig up as much about the personal habits of the satrap of Cerobi and his retinue as you can."

Zexion sniffed. "Only if you don't call me that."

Luxord ignored him. "Where's the fence? I need to track him down."

Zexion turned back to his book. "You should know better by now. Nobody can ever find Axel unless he wants to be found."

* * *

" . . . Sapphire that size'd be hard to get rid of discreetly," Axel said, cracking his knuckles. "Hard to find a buyer, easy to trace. Not like there are a ton of those hanging around."

"We could have it cut. That many smaller sapphires would still be worth a fortune, and we could drop them on the market a little at a time—less suspicious, and less chance of flooding and depreciation."

"Yeah," Axel said, and sighed, "but that seems like a real fucking shame, cutting up a beauty like that. Let me see what I can do for you."

* * *

"Walk me through the plan," Xaldin said, arms folded.

"As you like, boss." Luxord spread the blueprint out between them. "The satrap will be sitting here, and his wife will be here. He has a personal aide who sits here, and of course guards—two in the box with him, sitting here, and here, between him and the door, and four more on the stair." He made quick marks to delineate their positions. "There are also Archadian honor guards in the great hall and the doorways—"

"But they're less of a concern." Xaldin nodded. "Go on."

"Xigbar enters here, through the servant's entrance, makes his way unseen through the access tunnels and creates a disturbance here—in the lower entry hall—to draw off the four guards on the stair. I trust you can think of an acceptable disturbance?"

Xigbar just grinned.

"And then . . . ."

* * *

The stiff brocade of a waiter's uniform reminded Luxord why he had left the Archadian high life behind so many years ago. Nonetheless he kept his expression quite composed, and even managed not to roll his eyes at the turgid love scene taking place on stage.

The scene ended. Before the lights came up, under cover of applause, he slipped a little more brandy into the satrap's wife's goblet of wine—not that it was likely necessary; she was already blinking muzzily, as though confused, as the lights came up.

There was a sharp rap at the door. He moved smoothly to open it.

Xaldin looked remarkably credible in his heavily-embroidered tunic and long robe of office. Zexion had done quite a bit of research to find a member of the nobility far-enough removed from Archades that he was unlikely to be found out as a fraud and yet important enough that the satrap would be likely to actually give him a moment. Xaldin was therefore wearing the colors and seal of Lord Arfei of Ravon -by-the-Sea, with delicate chips of blue topaz woven into his braids and his expression forbidding. Quietly, Luxord set down the goblet of water that Marluxia had prepared, temptingly, on the edge of the satrap's wife's seat.

"Your grace," Xaldin said to the satrap, bowing low. "I am Lord of Ravon-by-the-Sea, and if I might ask for a moment of your time?"

"Of course," said the satrap, drawing a little out into the hallway. "If you will forgive me; my wife is feeling—unwell—" He cast a stern look at the poor woman, who had slumped back in her chair and was looking decidedly greenish. She reached for her water, which was her great mistake.

"Of course," Xaldin said smoothly. "It is not a matter of great privacy; I would not disturb the lady. Perhaps we had ought to discuss this in the hall?"

The satrap assented, and the two men stepped out into the hall. Luxord reached for the satrap's wife's wineglass, as she nursed her deceptive glass of 'water,' which was the signal.

He waited—_five, four, three, two_—and then there were a series of rapidfire gunshots, followed by a tremendous bang, and a crash, and familiar, wild laughter from down the hall. He couldn't quite stop himself from smiling. Xigbar must have made quite an impression in the lower hall.

There was a general rushing toward the sound. The satrap's wife took the opportunity, bidden by too much alcohol followed by a few drops of ipecac in her water, to be quite sick all over the floor. Her guard rushed forward to hold her shoulder.

Luxord didn't hear anything at all, but when he looked around, sure enough, he could see that Larxene had made her drop from one of the upper balconies (whose occupants were more than consumed by trying to figure out what Xigbar was up to) into their box seat. Silently, she reached out, seized the walking-stick from where Luxord had hidden it beneath the lady's furs and the lord's velvet cloak when he'd taken their garments. She slid it into the longsword holster on her back, winked at him, and then was off again, lightning-quick and lightfooted, from box to box and then into the orchestra pit, where she made a minor commotion (although nothing next to what Xigbar had done).

Luxord smiled. Nothing quite like a plan well-done.

* * *

"The carvings are pretty," Zexion said. The staff had been stripped of its gold and gemstones and was nothing but bare braidwood.

Larxene smirked and snatched it from his hands. "Not worth anything," she said, and cast it onto the fire.

"Heathen."

She stretched out against Marluxia, not arguing.

"You can buy as many staves as you like with the take from the job," Axel pointed out.

"I still want to know what Xigbar did," Luxord said. "You made an ungodly amount of noise." He swirled his brandy, and then added, "Not that it wasn't well-done."

"You can get a fucking good round of target practice in," Xigbar said, "if you set the big chandeliers spinning and then try to shoot out all the candle globes. 'Course, it doesn't work so good if you hit the support cables instead."

Larxene laughed. Xaldin afforded a smile. Zexion said, with some mixture of resignation and admiration, "You might've burned the building down."

"Might've," Xigbar said. "Didn't."

"Does this mean we can afford upgrades on the _Heartless_?" Lexaeus asked, as plaintively as Lexaeus ever was plaintive.

"Of course," Xaldin said. "May she ever fly us into trouble."


End file.
